<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Stay, Please by postapocalyptic_cryptic</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258055">Stay, Please</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/postapocalyptic_cryptic/pseuds/postapocalyptic_cryptic'>postapocalyptic_cryptic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tumblr Prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Crying, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Dehumanization, Episode Tag, Fluff, Hurt Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Gets a Hug, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, M/M, Protective Martin Blackwood, The inherent homoeroticism of crying on your coworker, Trauma, Tumblr Prompt, episode 91, thanks daisy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:14:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/postapocalyptic_cryptic/pseuds/postapocalyptic_cryptic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>voiceless-terror said to postapocalyptic-cryptic-fic:<br/>Ahh prompts!! If you’re feeling it, could you do Jon saying ‘I don’t know why you’re mad at me’ with whoever you like?? Love your fics!</p><p>Heck yeah! I did Jon and Martin and a sprinkling of Daisy. Didn't quite turn out as angsty as I wanted, but there is a significant amount of sappiness.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tumblr Prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>303</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stay, Please</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/gifts">voiceless_terror</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Daisy drops Jon in front of Martin’s desk. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>drops him, because she’s carried him into the room by the back of his shirt like some sort of small animal. He might as well be, so small and fragile-looking before Daisy’s muscular bulk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hits the ground with an awful sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it’s then that Martin realizes he’s sobbing. Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Daisy carried him in because Jon’s sobbing so hard he can’t walk and now he’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>lying </span>
  </em>
  <span>there in front of Martin’s desk oh God he has to do something-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Martin shouts, springing up from his desk. Daisy’s got blood on her shirt and both of them are covered in a lot of dirt. “What happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the floor, Jon scrambles back from him, trying to distance himself from both Martin and Daisy and only succeeding in slamming his head against the leg of the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the room, Basira pipes up. Martin hadn’t even realized she was in the room. “I don’t know,” she sighs. “Ask Daisy. I’m done with this for today.” Then, she’s back out the door and it’s just Martin and Jon and Daisy. Martin does not like the look in Daisy’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can someone please explain this to me?” Martin pleads, trying to keep from dropping to his knees next to Jon before he sorts out whether or not Daisy’s a threat. Based on the next words out of her mouth, he’s glad he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Found a monster. Killed it. Tried to kill that one, too-” she points at Jon and he sobs harder and Martin’s stomach flips- “but Basira talked me out of it.” She scuffs the bottom of her boot against the ground. Martin steps between her and Jon. She steps back, baring her teeth. “What, Blackwood? You gonna put yourself out on the line to protect that thing? That monster? You think you could even if you wanted to? I’d have you dead before you could so much as blink.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin bristles. “Yeah, yeah I am. And I want you to leave now. Go do… whatever it is you do, and don’t come back in here if you don’t have a reason.” Martin takes another step forward and Daisy steps back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tips her head back, exposing the racing pulsepoint at her jugular. “You don’t want to do this, Blackwood.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually, I kind of do. Get out of here, Daisy. You’ve done enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long minute, Daisy just looks at him. Her eyes are rather paler blue than Martin remembers, bloodshot and wide and wild. She doesn’t blink, pupils blown wide as she regards him like a cat regards a mouse. Martin stands his ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, “Fine. Have it your way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when Loverboy rips your mind out.” She turns on her heel and storms out, slamming the door behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as she’s gone, Martin spins around, dropping to his knees next to Jon. He’s quieter now, sobs having given way to terrified tremors pressed up against the desk. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut and his good arm over his face. The burned one is tucked up against his chest, shielding from Martin with a thin, trembling shoulder.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon?” he asks, careful to keep his voice low and his posture loose. The last thing Jon needs right now is another fright. “Can you hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, like the turn of a flower toward the rising sun, Jon lifts his face. Martin sucks a shocked breath in at the state of him, and immediately regrets it. Jon cringes and ducks down again, mumbling something unintelligible and bringing his hand back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, no, Jon,” Martin soothes. “It’s alright. I’m sorry. Just let me see you, okay? I need to make sure…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Need to make sure Daisy didn’t actually cut your throat. Need to make sure it’s superficial.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon unfurls again, a bit quicker this time. “Martin?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice sounds wrecked. Martin nods encouragingly, placing his hand palm-up on the floor between them. An open invitation. Jon ignores it, but Martin soldiers on. “Are you hurt?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon blinks a few times, frowning as though Martin’s asked him a particularly difficult question. “Where’s… where’s Dai-Daisy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gone, Jon. She’s not here right now. You’re safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon blinks again. “‘Kay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you tell me what happened? Maybe how I can help you?” Martin curls his fingers a bit, hoping to coax Jon into taking his hand. Ground contact would be good with the way he’s shaking right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help with what?” Jon sounds so fucking lost. Martin wants to kick something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon, Daisy said she tried to kill you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the wrong thing to say. Jon whimpers, which is a sound he never wants to hear from him again, and curls right back up. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and Martin’s heart breaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.” Martin leans back a bit, hoping space will break Jon out of whatever trance he’s in. He wants so desperately to hold him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making you angry.” Jon’s voice catches and Martin’s afraid he might start that awful, heartbreaking sobbing. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me. Don’- Don’t ‘member what I did but it- but it was- i’m sure I- I’m sorry, I just. If I remember, I can fix it, or, or, or you tell me and then I’ll fix it, I promise I’ll try to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, no. Oh, Jon. “No, no, no, I’m not angry, Jon. I’m so sorry I shouted before. It wasn’t at you, I promise. I’m just upset at Daisy for hurting you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what breaks him. A sob that has more in common with a scream than a cry fights its way out of Jon’s throat and he throws himself forward, collapsing into Martin’s arms. Martin gathers him up, letting Jon worm his way into his lap and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>cry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go, love. That’s it. Let it all out.” Martin sweeps a hand up and down Jon’s back and tangles the other in his hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You did so well today, Jon. You did so well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon tucks his face into Martin’s sweater and keeps crying. The shakes have broken like a fever, wrung out of him with the sobbing. Hopefully, that means he’s letting go of some of the tension. Martin just holds him closer and rocks them back and forth a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit on that floor right in front of Martin’s desk for an hour and a half. Martin’s legs cramp. His knees hurt. Jon keeps crying. Martin keeps holding on. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the sobbing lulls to exhausted hiccups and then spent panting. Martin stretches his legs out and sighs as Jon sniffles into his sweater. He yawns and winces at the pull of dried salt on his cheeks. He’s always been a sympathy crier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his lap, Jon stirs, lifting his head. He pushes his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ears and rubbing at his eyes. Bloodshot brown eyes meet Martin’s and Martin smiles as gently as he can. “Hey, Jon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you feeling?” Martin rubs a soothing hand across Jon’s thigh when he tenses up as if just now realizing what’s happened. “Take your time, I just want to know if you’re hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I don’t think so,” Jon whispers. “Just…” He trails off, sighing, but Martin understands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>does Martin understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. How about we go to Document Storage and you take a nap, alright?” Martin puts his hands on Jon’s shoulders and Jon leans into him again, tucking his face into the crook of his neck and nodding. “Okay. I’m going to pick you up; is that alright?” Another nod and Martin slips his hands under Jon’s thighs, waiting for him to wrap his arms around Martin’s neck and his legs around his waist to stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the way to Document Storage, Martin does his level best not to pass out at the sheer intimacy of having Jon’s small warm body pressed so close to him. Crush aside, carrying someone so vulnerable is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>open. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Martin hasn’t felt something like this in a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting the door open with no free hands is a bit complex, and Martin’s glad the cot’s all set up already. He sets Jon down gently, straightening as he tugs his shoes off and pulls his feet onto the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Martin,” Jon says in his solemn way. He’s looking up at him with those words and that face and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Martin feels himself flush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re- you’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Jon just looks at him. Then, quiet as anything, he murmurs, “Stay?” He pats the space next to him and there’s no mistaking what he means. Martin’s breath catches. “Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Jon. Of course.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading and thanks to @voiceless-terror on tumblr for asking! I hope everyone enjoyed and don't be afraid to hit me up below or on tumblr @postapocalyptic-cryptic-fic</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>